Child of the mountains

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    He was born amidst the dusty mountains.

    Dragon Tail Mountains is the name the men imputed the earth where its bones rise from its smooth and green skin to brush the sky with jagged peaks.It twists and coils like a snake, mating sultry forests and dry sands; leaving the harsh, cold grounds of Skyrim to plunge into the warm waters of the Illiac Bay.

    He was brought down from the heights to the populated march region of Ephesus where he was reared in the redguard mercantile tradition. Albeit well educated and instructed in the matters of social etiquette, an atavic intuition was dwelling in his core, never relenting, and drawing his attention always toward the mountains.

     

     

    OLD

     

    The frozen shore was pristine white. A virginity only tainted by the alternative beauty of recurring high tide waves.

    The air was harmfully cold though, it penetrated ears, infiltrated the head all the way through the brain. The day was reaching its end and the sky was another grace hanging over the sea, colored in orange, pink, yellow hues, mesmerizing the soul.

    In spite of all the enjoyment imbued by the scenery sight, the wilderness was harsh to mortal beings. Warmth and food was a necessity.

     

    He had no experience in hunting our scouting. Being a trained fighter of the imperial army, he was seasoned in the ways of weapon wielding but had only few surviving notions. After his wild evasion hunger was raging in the core of his stomach and exhaustion was lurking. Right now, all he had was the freedom to suffer the fundamental pains nature provides. He'd had to find his way in the wild in order to live.

    He wasn't familiar with this landscape and didn't know what kind of resources he could had find here to sustain himself. Starting walking along the shoreline, he felt that his new life was swiftly becoming an earthly hell. His prisoners rags were in no use to prevent the mortal cold, every step he was taking was a turmoil for each of his extremities were numbly motioned but relayed him with an ordeal of sensations, moreover he wasn't able to fully control his conduct due to his violent shivers. He had to keep moving though; for the reason that if he stopped to make a fire, his captors - no doubt presently engaged in a manhunt - would had easily spotted him, besides he first had to find something to eat and he had no clue of the way he would had build a fire. His last meal dated from the late afternoon the day before, as in the prison lunch was served once at early night.

     

    The nightmarish stumble on a surreally peaceful oceanic countryside seemed to stretch for innumerable hours. The night had fallen, the sky was now an infinite abyss bedding the stars, softly casting their ethereal glow. Masser and Secunda were looming overhead, providing an august light which marked each swell of the water on its apotheose and maked sodden materials glisten after each marine ebb.

    A soft foreign sound slowly mingled with the pattern of foam meeting land, it seemed to him that it had an organic origin. Approaching with caution, crouching painfully on his knees toward this object of intrigue, concealed behind an imposing boulder he glimpsed a wide stretch of dark bulks overcasting the beach. Some were totally immobile and a few others seemed lazily moving. It emitted a throaty sound and while moving, a fleshy vibration against the hard moist sand. Horkers.

     

    UNT

     

    The warm blood was gushing out from an appalling laceration across the beast’s trunk. It had been an old male, laying aloof from the flock, slumbering, its bulk moving in rhythm with its slow in breathings and guttural snorings. The man had measured each of his motions in concord with the animal’s loudness, despite that he was giddy, he had managed to approach without waking it and to gather all his remaining strength in a single demential blow. In a wink, the moon enlightened a deadly crescent, drawn by the mace launched with furious despair, it’s wait increased at tenfold, it had plowed through the horker’s thick leather, it’s edgy section digging the flesh from which sanguine pulpe had sprayed wildly. From the attack ensued a dull cracking sound, the exhalation of the beast had been choked in the process. All around the man and his prey the atmosphere had grown grimly silent.

     

    He was still working on the carcass when dawn broke. After the killing he had been ecstatic, to think that it had been his first achievement in the wild life: a fruitful hunt; besides he was famished and hypothermia had set him in an euphoric state of mind. And then he had quickly realized it had been no real hunt. For the horker was in fact dying, shunned by its kind it bore the stigmas of fight, it was probably a former alpha of the flock, disenthronned by a younger specimen. Actually the beast was already decaying where a wide gash offered a ghastly vision, surely inflicted during the fight, a large strip of meat dangling in place of its maw. The tusk of its rival had opened it all the way down to the beginning of its gullet.

     

    It had taken him a long time to figure out how he was going to remove the meat he needed to sustain himself on his route. First, he had try to chop its back with his mace, he was crushing the animal’s flesh, more likely. He couldn’t try and finish to tear off the slab from its severed mouth, for it had a fetid smell of rot. He needed fresh meat, so he had decided to extract a consequent chunk from the creature’s haunches. He had nothing that would serve to cut though and there were only smooth pebbles strewn on the beach, nothing sharp to grab. He struggled  with his pitiful price for several hours, in vein. Apathetic, he sat besides the stinking body, brooding on his fate and letting the cold have reason of it. Then he saw the tusk. It was almost pried out from the beast’s right jaw, where its wound started. Its material was said to be very strong, the only mean to slice it being to split it from the base.Crouching in front of it, he used all his weight to finish and dislodge de long but surprisingly light tusk from the cartilage in which it was clenched. Setting it flat on the sandy ground, and using his mace in combination with a big smooth rock, he succeeded in creating a tiny slit at the larger end. From there he applied quick but light strokes to enlarge it and finally the tusk splitted in two halves. their edges was very thin, that surely explained its lightness. using one half, he began to saw in the animal’s leather, giving his makeshift tool large slanting  draws.

    As his calamity neared its end, the sun was piercing the horizon, warming the tears he had shed in relief. He thought: Kynareth’s mercy. Never have I felt such joy.

Comments

10 Comments   |   Karver the Lorc and 3 others like this.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  December 28, 2016
    See this goes to prove it; hunting is a sure fire win. 
    Looking forwards to what you can do for January's AMOSS. 


    I'm going to step away from the writing and comment on the style. I hope you continue with the same sty...  more
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  December 12, 2016
    Oh, Dragontail Mountains.  At first I was hoping that this Child of the Mountains is an Orc, but Redguard is ok too. :D
    • Molicha
      Molicha
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Oh, Dragontail Mountains.  At first I was hoping that this Child of the Mountains is an Orc, but Redguard is ok too. :D
        ·  December 12, 2016
      Actually he may not be a redguard, It was starting like you said and somehow an other idea popped out. We will see.  
      • The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        Molicha
        Molicha
        Molicha
        Actually he may not be a redguard, It was starting like you said and somehow an other idea popped out. We will see.  
          ·  December 12, 2016
        Agreed. Orc. No Breton. Karver would cry. 
        • Karver the Lorc
          Karver the Lorc
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          Agreed. Orc. No Breton. Karver would cry. 
            ·  December 12, 2016
          :'(
          • The Long-Chapper
            The Long-Chapper
            Karver the Lorc
            Karver the Lorc
            Karver the Lorc
            :'(
              ·  December 12, 2016
            See, look how cute he looks. When he pouts, you can really see his tusks. 
            • Karver the Lorc
              Karver the Lorc
              The Long-Chapper
              The Long-Chapper
              The Long-Chapper
              See, look how cute he looks. When he pouts, you can really see his tusks. 
                ·  December 12, 2016
              • The Long-Chapper
                The Long-Chapper
                Karver the Lorc
                Karver the Lorc
                Karver the Lorc
                  ·  December 12, 2016
                *squeezes his wittle cheeks* awww
      • Karver the Lorc
        Karver the Lorc
        Molicha
        Molicha
        Molicha
        Actually he may not be a redguard, It was starting like you said and somehow an other idea popped out. We will see.  
          ·  December 12, 2016
        Then he must be an Orc! Must must must! As long as he´s not a Breton... :D
        • Molicha
          Molicha
          Karver the Lorc
          Karver the Lorc
          Karver the Lorc
          Then he must be an Orc! Must must must! As long as he´s not a Breton... :D
            ·  December 12, 2016
          What about neither one nor the other? Akatosh has unsearchable purposes.